


Saying No to Sammy

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean tries to learn how to say no to Sammy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Saying No to Sammy  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (established relationship)  
Rating: 18+  
Category: slash  
Word Count: 3300  
Spoilers: through “Provenance”  
Summary: Dean tries to learn how to say no to Sammy.   
Warnings: Incest, graphic sex, language, towels  
Disclaimer: They are just someone else’s toys that I like to play with. I did the same thing to my friend’s Ken and Chip dolls.   
Notes: Bring it on, SN writers. I can Wincest-wank anything. And I’m on vacation so I don’t have a tape of the episode. I’ll fix any errors when I get home to my tape, but feel free to point them out.   
  
  
  
**Saying No to Sammy**  
  
Wisconsin and the Strigha were hundreds of miles behind them, but Dean couldn’t stop replaying things in his mind. It had taken a smartass twelve year old to get through to him, but he’d finally seen the light. Lots of people, his brother included, would have said that was only natural, since with Dean’s current level of maturity, he would have to look up to a twelve year old as the Yoda of emotional maturity.   
  
_Two queens._ That had been funny. And then it hadn’t. If they were so obvious a twelve year old could see it, what was going to happen the next time Dad was around?  
  
But that hadn’t been the worst of it.   
  
_You’d do anything for your little brother?_ Of course, he would. He’d die for him in a heartbeat, but he wouldn’t give him the thing he wanted most. To be normal. To be free.  
  
And then Sam, wishing for his innocence. The first loss wasn’t Dean’s fault, and there wasn’t anything he could do to fix it. But the other. He sure as hell could have put a stop to it when Sam started trying to get the kind of attention he shouldn’t have known his big brother wanted to give him. And he should have never let things go back to the way they’d been. He’d taken advantage of his brother’s grief over Jess, been a warm, willing alternative to his hand or a random stranger.   
  
It was time he got a little bit better at saying no to Sammy. For his own good.   
  
“Excuse me. I’m the brooder. Your part is to sing off-key and annoy the hell out of me.”  
  
Sam had been in a surprisingly good mood ever since they’d seen Dad. He wouldn’t admit it, but Dean knew he’d missed him and not just because of Dad’s hunting skills.   
  
“How many girlfriends did you have before Jess—in college, I mean.”  
  
“What is this a poll?”  
  
“I thought so.”   
  
“What the hell does that mean?”  
  
“Just got my answer that’s all.”  
  
“You think so. Try this one. More than you.”  
  
“Oh, you wish.”  
  
“One night stands don’t count, Dean. I’m guessing one. Cassie. I got you beat.”  
  
“Name’em.”  
  
“I don’t have to prove—”  
  
“That’s what I thought.”   
  
And what he thought was that by always being there, he’d made it pretty hard for Sam to figure out exactly what he did want. Sam had confessed to blowing two guys in his freshman year, “just to see,” but he’d never told Dean exactly what it was he “saw.”  
  
Sam huffed his bangs out of his eyes. “Fine. Jennifer, Jasmine—”  
  
“You do know there are other letters in the alphabet, right? You’re making this up.”  
  
“Jasmine was on the basketball team and taller than you. At least I didn’t get a crick in my neck making out with her. Jennifer was in my first poly-sci class. She was built like a—”  
  
“All right.” They passed a couple of exits. “So—uh—you got a type?”  
  
“What the hell is this?”  
  
“Just making conversation. You want the singing instead, you got it.” Dean turned up the volume and screamed along with Bon Scott.  
  
That night he couldn’t make his intentions clearer. He found the trashiest looking girl he could and made sure Sam could see them. When Sam finally called him over, Dean was ready to stand fast against the usual routine, when Sam would make him a better offer, an offer that usually had him so hard Sam had to drive them back to the hotel.  
  
This time, all Sam wanted to talk about was work. He couldn’t have mistaken Dean’s objectives. He just didn’t seem to care. Maybe Sam had come to the same conclusions Dean had. Somehow that really didn’t make Dean feel any better.   
  
He’d see how Sam reacted when he didn’t make it back that night.   
  
*  
  
All Sam did was rag on him about his hangover. Dean wasn’t exactly sure what else there was to rag on him about. He’d kept drinking until he almost stopped wishing it was Sam he was kissing, and then things got a little fuzzy.   
  
The champagne helped a little. The sight of the snobby dealer’s daughter helped a bit more. She was exactly Sam’s type, smart, pretty, perfect. Suddenly, the mini-quiches were suddenly a bit much on a morning-after stomach.   
  
And the girl just got more perfect, trailing after them without whining about her shoes or her nails, just helping. And Sam kept right on resisting. Dean could tell he liked her, and was able to ignore that heart-stopping moment when Sam had said that Jess was only part of the reason why he hadn’t already taken what the girl was offering. He stayed as physically far away from his brother as he could get in that crazy room, the mention of Jess hanging between them until Dean realized another reason why Sam found it easier to turn to his brother, Dean was never going to wind up pinned to the ceiling.   
  
And then finally, finally, finally, the boy caved. He watched his brother dive onto Sarah’s lips for as long as he could stand it before turning away. “That’s my boy.”  
  
*  
  
When Sam came down the steps of the antique dealer’s, he kept a wide grin on his lips. He knew damn well why Dean had been shoving him at that girl. He thought Sam was going to leave him as soon as they helped Dad bag that demon, and he was throwing up walls the best way he knew how. It probably hadn’t been the nicest thing to do, to make sure his kiss with Sarah happened on the outside of the dealer’s, but if Dean was going to try that shit, he deserved an eyeful.  
  
Sam folded himself into the Impala.   
  
“So, enjoy yourself?” Dean had his sunglasses on, even though it wasn’t sunny, and he wasn’t hung over.   
  
“Oh yeah.”  
  
“Wanna stay a couple more days?”  
  
“Nah, I’m good. Where we headed now?”  
  
“Just a kiss and you’re good? Must’ve been a hell of a kiss.”  
  
“Jealous?”  
  
“Why the hell would I be? I told you to go for it.”  
  
“Yeah, you did.” Sam smiled and sank back against the seat. This was going to be fun. He watched Dean’s fingers drumming on the steering wheel; his brother was so far from being on the beat. “So, you’re not at all jealous?”  
  
“No. Don’t you still have a bruise from me shoving you into her arms.”  
  
“Yeah, I do.”  
  
“Well, and you know, fond as I am of you, bro, sometimes I need a little break.”  
  
“Oh. Fond as you are.”  
  
“You tryin’ to make a point here, Sam?”  
  
They reached I-87, and Dean headed south.   
  
“One, you haven’t called me Sammy since we left Wisconsin; and two, you’re blushing.”  
  
“It’s the sun.”  
  
“It’s cloudy. And Dean, I’ve seen you blush less watching porn videos.”  
  
“Sam, I don’t blush, and it wasn’t that porny a kiss.”  
  
“So you watched. But you’re not jealous, and you’re not blushing.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
*  
  
Sam knew Dean would never last, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure he didn’t have to sleep alone long. When they stopped for the night, he stripped as soon as they were in the door.   
  
“Uh, dude, you taking a shower sometime soon?”  
  
“Yeah, in a bit. You can go first if you want.”   
  
“You—uh—cold?”  
  
“Nope.”   
  
Dean had his head so far in his duffel he was almost wearing it. Sam turned away to hide a grin--and provide a different view. When he looked back, he caught his brother’s tongue disappearing back into his mouth.  
  
“I—uh—I’m hungry.”  
  
“You ate like a pig at the diner.”  
  
“Yeah, well, heh—must’ve burned it off. I’m going to check out the vending machine—while you—uh—shower.”  
  
“Okay. I’ve got some change in my jeans.” Sam started toward Dean who backed into the door.   
  
“I’ve got it.” His hand was on the knob, eyes wide, lips damp. “Uh—want anything?”  
  
Sam licked his lips as if tasting something. “Hmm.”  
  
“Plan on making up your mind sometime today?”  
  
“Maybe.” He looked directly at Dean. “No. I don’t want anything from the machine.”  
  
“All right then. I’ll—uh—be back.”  
  
Sam showered quickly and decided to be slightly merciful and kept a towel around his hips when he stepped back out into the room. But he made sure to stretch his arms over his head as he combed his hair in the mirror over the dresser. The towel slipped a couple of inches lower.   
  
In the reflection, he could see Dean gaping at him, a Twizzler hanging from his parted lips. Keeping his back to Dean, he peeled off the towel. The mirror showed and image of his brother with his hands clasped at the back of his neck as if that could keep him from reaching out.   
  
Sam went to hang the towel back up in the bathroom, and then went back in and began sorting through his clothes.   
  
“You’re still not—um—cold.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Yeah, it is a little warm in here.” Dean hopped off the bed and went to turn up the air conditioner—full blast.   
  
Sam rubbed his chin to hide his smile.   
  
“I’m going to shower. Don’t eat all my candy, dude.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  
  
While Dean was gone, Sam piled the weapons and duffels on the other bed and peeled back the blankets.   
  
Dean didn’t seem to know where to look when he got out of the shower. Finally, his eyes lit on the duffels.   
  
“You know, they’ve got a laundry room, and I’m not really sleepy. I think I’ll do a couple loads.” He pulled on a t-shirt and then turned away as he dropped his own towel to yank on shorts and jeans. “What’s dirty?”  
  
Dean really was desperate if he was resorting to laundry to avoid him.   
  
“Everything.”  
  
“All right, then.” Dean slung both duffels over his shoulder and headed toward the door.   
  
As soon as his brother hit the door, Sam jumped up, turned off the a/c and cranked up the heat. He was freezing.   
  
*  
  
Dean leaned against the vibrating washer and groaned aloud. His brother was going to fucking kill him. All that skin and muscle, that groove right above his hip he’d never been able to resist. Maybe he should sleep in the car.   
  
Shutting his eyes didn’t help at all, he could still see him, could practically taste him. He was so screwed.   
  
And then it got worse. The door to the laundry room opened and there was Sam. In a fucking towel.  
  
His brother shut the door and leaned against it, that too fuckable edge of muscle peeking out from inadequate scrap of terrycloth.   
  
“What the hell, Sam? You becoming a nudist?”  
  
“You took all my clothes.”  
  
“You said they were all dirty.”  
  
“They were.”  
  
“Well, I’ll bring you something as soon as they’re done. Go back to the room.”  
  
“I wanted to ask you something.”   
  
The jeans were thumping in the dryer, but Dean could still hear his pulse rushing in his ears—feel it in his dick. _Down, boy._  
  
“And it couldn’t wait?”  
  
“I thought I might forget it. Do you make the same sounds when you fuck girls as when you fuck me?”  
  
Dean’s everyday life was what most people considered a freak show, but standing there under the flickering bulb of that dirty laundry room with those words on his brother’s lips he really felt like he was in the Twilight Zone.  
  
“Shit, Sam, what kind of question is that?”  
  
“Well, if you’re going to start banging girls all the time, bringing them back to the room or whatever, I thought I should ask. I mean, you wouldn’t want me to get an inferiority complex or something.”  
  
“Oh you’re a complex all right.” Dean muttered.  
  
“And you’re blushing again.”  
  
Dean turned and grabbed the washing machine.   
  
“Sarah, she was a good kisser.”   
  
Were his hands denting the machine?  
  
“She did this thing with her tongue, you know? But it wasn’t like that thing you do.”  
  
“Jesus, Sam.” He got some air back in his lungs and turned to face his brother. “This has gotta stop.”  
  
“What does?”  
  
“This.” Dean waved.  
  
“The laundry?”  
  
“Don’t be a such a goddamn smartass. This: you, me, the fucking.”  
  
“What, after seven years it’s not working for you anymore? We’ve grown apart? It’s not me, it’s you?”  
  
“C’mon.” And fuck, his voice broke.   
  
“Dean, I know why you’re doing this.”  
  
“Oh god, here we go with the freshman psych class again.”  
  
“You think I’m leaving, and it’s easier to just shove me away.”  
  
“Jesus, Sam, you really need to get over yourself already. Maybe I’m just—”  
  
“Hard enough to hit one out of the park with it?” Sam was staring at his crotch.   
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Go ahead.” And Sam tilted his chin at him.   
  
And Dean had no idea how he got across the room to be pressed up against him, but the towel hit the floor as soon as Sam met his kiss.   
  
He had pushed him away, pushed him until his tongue had been in someone else’s mouth, and he wanted it all back. All of him. Every fucking inch was his. Still his. Was gonna stay his. Thank god.  
  
Sam’s big hands held his head as he took control of the kiss. “Yeah, that thing you do.” He breathed as he lifted his head. “I’m tryin’ to decide which I like better.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I know you like this.” Dean dropped to his knees.  
  
And he did. God, he did. Dean went down on him so fast Sam’s head slammed up against the door, hard enough to rattle his teeth, and he thought in those few seconds where thinking was still possible, that he was glad it was two in the morning and the sound of the dryer might be blamed for the banging his head was going to be doing against the door as his brother’s head bobbed up and down on his dick.  
  
Dean worked the head now. Wet long sweeps of his tongue, and Sam was rushing toward the edge, thighs shaking as his orgasm started to boil through him. Then Dean backed off, and Sam’s head thumped back again.  
  
“C’mon, Dean. Don’t.”  
  
“Don’t what?” Dean licked a path up toward his navel and then over his hip.   
  
“Tease me.”   
  
“Oh, ‘cause you’d never do that to me.”   
  
Dean bit down over his hip, and Sam could feel his dick leaking. He loved being bitten, and Dean knew it too well. He was so close that if Dean would just breathe on him right he knew he could come.   
  
But Dean’s breath was over the wet mark on his hip as he spoke, “Prancing naked around all night.”  
  
“Had. To.” Sam was panting, trying to shift his hips, but his brother had a hold of them and he wasn’t going anywhere. Grabbing Dean’s head would probably piss him off enough to stop for good.  
  
“Why?” Dean licked over to the other side, his voice a rumble against Sam’s skin.   
  
Sam jerked his hips again, but Dean just kept him pressed against the door.  
  
“Fuck, c’mon. Please, Dean.”  
  
“You should hear yourself when I suck you. You have no idea what comes out of your mouth.”  
  
Since Sam couldn’t really remember what went through his head at times like that, other than _yes, now,_ and _harder_ ,he couldn’t disagree. He just squirmed there as Dean tongued his hip before moving down the crease of his thigh.   
  
Dean seemed to be waiting for something. Sam arched up again.   
  
“You didn’t answer my question.”  
  
“I forgot it,” Sam admitted.   
  
“Why’d you feel the need to torture me all night?”  
  
Sam considered and rejected a half dozen rude responses, all of which his brother deserved, but none of which would be likely to get Dean’s mouth back on his dick.   
  
“Why exactly are we talking _now_?”  
  
“Mostly I’m just listening. You were talking.”  
  
“Oh.” Sam wished his mouth-brain filter functioned a little better when he got close to coming. “What did I say?”  
  
Dean laughed and tongued his balls, and oh, hell maybe that would be enough—but shit, he leaned back again.   
  
“Something about Sarah’s tongue and my tongue but I couldn’t quite figure it all out.”  
  
“You are jealous.”  
  
“And if I am?”  
  
“I like it.”  
  
Dean’s tongue stroked the side of his cock, but it just wasn’t enough now, his orgasm had backed too far off. And Dean complained about _him_ picking bad times for conversation.   
  
“Please, Dean, what do you want from me?”  
  
Dean laid a line of bites across the top of his groin. “Do you think I liked pushing you away? But I’ve got to be fair. We can’t keep doing this forever, and if I’m always here, how the hell can ever figure out what you want?”  
  
“You. Have I ever said I don’t want you? The job, yeah, this life, but never you.”  
  
“Sammy, don’t do this to me. Don’t make it so hard to say no.”  
  
Sam reached down and tugged Dean up toward him, their hands getting in each other’s way as they worked at Dean’s fly. The brush of denim and metal was almost more than he could stand, but then Dean’s hand was there, wrapping around both cocks, smearing precome over both their shafts.   
  
And he was sliding and grinding in Dean’s hand, against his cock, until finally: there. He knew he was babbling again, but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it, any more than he could stop the orgasm burning through him until he went off like a roman candle between them.   
  
Dean tugged him through it until he came down, and Sam knew what he wanted. He slouched down against the door until Dean’s cock could ride that groove in the muscles above his hip, slick and smooth on Sam’s come.   
  
Dean groaned as he bucked them hard against the door. His jeans abraded Sam’s just-come-sensitive dick, but he wouldn’t have stopped his brother if the building caught fire. He hung on and met his thrusts with a shifting grind of his own, until Dean’s moan was vibrating on his throat.   
  
“Mine, mine, mine.”  
  
And it made that pain in his dick worthwhile. “Yeah, Dean.”  
  
His come burned across Sam’s belly, and he dropped his head on his chest.   
  
“God, Sammy.”  
  
The rumbling of the washer was just loud enough to hear over Dean’s harsh breaths.   
  
“So, do you think you could stop pimping me out to girls?”  
  
“I just want you to be sure. I don’t want to keep you from—”  
  
“Jesus, Dean, now who needs to get over himself? You have a seriously over-developed sense of responsibility, you know that?”  
  
“That’s not what’s over-developed on me, and you love every inch of it.”  
  
Sam grinned. “I’ve forgotten. Why don’t we go back to the room so you can remind me.”  
  
“Can’t. Now I’ve got another pair of jeans to wash.”


End file.
